The Nightmares We Live
by Phnxgirl
Summary: As the trauma of their days carry over into their nights, Roberta Deeks watches over her son at significant moments throughout their lives. Chapter 3: 1990. Warning: Does contain some references to abuse.
1. Chapter 1 - 1984

AN: This is my first attempt at a multi-chapter fic. And I'm a bit nervous about posting it, as it's something completely different from my normal, short fluff pieces. Inspiration credit goes to Max and Fern Forever - a single line in chapter 6 of her "There is No Thing" spurred the monster of a story this is! Haha. As always, anything you recognize isn't mine!

* * *

1984

A sharp kick to the ribs woke her. Roberta rolled towards the edge of the bed, curling away from the flailing limbs of her 5-year-old son Marty. She twisted the kink out of her neck before reaching for the towheaded child, tucking him within her grasp.

"Shhh," she cooed at Marty, trying to still his trembling. She looked down to see bright blue eyes swimming with tears. "What's wrong, baby boy?"

"Scary dream Mama," Marty mumbled, as he burrowed further into her chest. She knew that much. Her third night in a row attempting to sleep in the small bed had done little to still the nightmares plaguing Marty.

"Will you tell me about it?"

Marty launched into a rambling tale of great green dragons, and evil monsters. "And at the end, there was a super scary, really mean lion. He tried to come after you, and then when I tried to stop him, he roared at me!" Sitting up, pitiful eyes looked up at Roberta. "It was like when Daddy yelled at me. Why did Daddy yell at me? I didn't do nothing wrong."

Roberta thought carefully before trying to answer. Her husband, Gordon, had been going through a tough time. He'd just lost his mother to lung cancer, and when he'd traveled back east for her funeral, he'd learned his twin brother was battling the same. He was not anticipated to survive the year. Gordon had come home understandably devastated, and hadn't really been the same since.

She thought back to earlier that week. Gordon may have taken out his stresses on a few bottles of alcohol, before passing out. When an exuberant, screeching child came rushing in to watch his favorite cartoons, the raging hangover resulted in unfortunate screaming at his son.

The fear on Marty's face broke Roberta's heart. His interactions with Gordon were becoming fewer and farther between, as the older man was grieving and his moods unpredictable. She'd tried to explain to her young son, but he did not fully understand.

"Remember what I said about Daddy?" She asked him.

"Yes, Mama. That Daddy's really really sad right now, so we hasta be extra nice to him," Marty recited dutifully. "I'm trying!"

"That's my boy! Hopefully, Daddy will be better soon. Now, before your scary dream, did you have any good ones?" She tried distracting him from his frightened thoughts.

Marty put on what he referred to as his 'thinking face', and Roberta chuckled at his wrinkled nose. "Yes I did! You know the 'Lympics?"

"The Olympics, yes, remember we watched the ice skaters on TV."

"No, the ones coming here! We learned abouts it in school!"

"Oh yes, not 'til the summer though. Were you one of the athletes? What sport?"

"No, but I dreamed I had a big brother and he was super fast, and he ran in the 'Lympics! He was really really big, and so fast! I kept yelling for him to save us from the lion, but he didn't come. Prolly cuz I don't really gots a big brother."

"No you don't, but maybe someday you'll get to BE a big brother and be able to be the protector." Roberta hoped the idea of a potential sibling might quell his sadness over the lack of an older one.

"I'd be the _bestest_ brother ever! But what if I get scared?"

Roberta stroked Marty's cheek and kissed his forehead. "I don't think you will. You stood up to the lion to protect me, didn't you? You are such a brave boy, and I'm really proud of you."

Marty snuggled closer into his mother's neck. His "I love you Mama!" was followed up by a large yawn.

Roberta returned his sentiment, then asked, "Got any funny jokes for me? I think we need one good joke before we go back to bed." It was a nightly tradition for the pair - trading jokes at bedtime.

Marty's 'thinking face' appeared again before he replied. "Yes, I heard this one at school! What's red and smells like blue paint?"

Roberta played up her own thinking face, "You got me, what is it?"

"Red paint!" Marty giggled at the brilliance of his joke, causing Roberta to chuckle right along with him. "Night Mama!" He kissed her cheek and snuggled into her side.

"Night baby boy," she kissed his head and wished them both restful sleep.


	2. Chapter 2 - 1987

AN: If I was nervous about the first chapter, I'm even more so with this one. Hope you enjoy! Please let me know what you think!

Warning: this chapter contains references to and very brief descriptions/depictions of child and spousal abuse.

1987

The sound of two voices woke her. A high-pitched squawk of pain followed by a deep, angry roar. Roberta fumbled in confusion before realizing she'd fallen asleep on the couch, still wearing yesterday's clothes. Remembering the previous night's events, she ran toward the stairs, ready to diffuse any battle that might arise between her husband and son.

Halfway up, she paused, the sound of the shower stopping her steps. She heard a nose sniffling, and tiny feet pattering down the hall, and she backed down the stairs. Her husband and her son were in different rooms now - no harm imminent. A smear of dried blood along the wall raised her tension again, and she made her way to the kitchen, making a mental note to clear the blemish later on.

Roberta passed the spot at the bottom of the staircase where the night before she'd found Marty, and she teared up. The thought of finding her baby boy crumpled in a heap at the bottom landing. She could still hear the sickening crunch of the 8-year-old's arm as it hit the ground after he'd tumbled down all thirteen stairs. For once she thanked Gordon's cheap stubbornness for not letting her replace the carpeting with hardwood.

Upon reaching the kitchen, Roberta gathered the supplies to make a hearty breakfast for her husband. She leaned heavily upon the counter as a poor substitute for the internal support she needed. Her mind wandered as the breakfast cooked. Torn between protecting her young son, and trying to help her husband. She still loved Gordon, but he'd changed. She tried to help him curb the drinking and the anger, but she was coming to the realization the situation was beyond her ability to help.

Roberta listened again for the shower, ensuring her husband was still upstairs, and ducked into the pantry. She dug past boxes of Crunch Berries and Corn Pops, and pulled out a yellow coffee can hidden in the back. After counting the contents, she dug through her pockets. Separating the pharmacy receipt from the cash, she added the money to the stash and rehid the can. There was a long way to go, saving in order to get her and Marty as far away from Gordon as possible. But Roberta would not give up; she had to protect her son.

Above her head the shower shut off, and Roberta rushed out to the stove to finish cooking.

* * *

 _Pen poised above the pages upon pages of admission paperwork, Roberta sat distracted by the rerun of Magnum, P.I. playing on the tv attached to the ceiling. She spotted a blur in her peripheral vision and turned her attention away from the hunky man with the mustache._

" _Martin!" she hissed. "Get over here! Stop bothering the other people!" Marty looked chagrined as he made his way back to the hard plastic seats. After the initial bout of tears following his fall, his energy surged back, and his boisterous nature had taken over. "Please sit with Mama while we wait to see the doctor, ok? I don't want you to hurt your arm more." Despite Marty's energy, his arm remained tucked tight against his side, very obviously broken._

 _She rubbed soothing circles on his back as she turned back to the paperwork. Once it was completed, she set it down on the vacant seat beside her. The next thing she knew, she had a blond-haired little boy in her lap, clinging to her for dear life. She was surprised by the shift in his demeanor, but when she heard stifled sniffles and felt the wet against her chest, she wrapped him tight in her arms. She rested her cheek atop his head and ran her fingers through his hair._

" _I'm sorry Mama! I didn't mean to make him mad! I'm sorry!"_

" _I know you didn't baby! But when we get back there, I wouldn't me-"_

 _A voice from the doorway interrupted Roberta's thought, calling them back to the examination rooms. She stood up without changing their position, Marty's legs instinctively wrapping around her waist. She grabbed the paperwork and followed the nurse._

* * *

She knew she had to direct her husband's attention away from Marty. He'd already done enough damage in the past 24 hours, she couldn't stand anything else happening. When the breakfast was plated, she grasped the back of a kitchen chair. She dragged it across the linoleum, creating a loud _squeak_ that resonated through the entire house. Gordon _hated_ that noise, and even more so when he was hungover. Sure enough, the shouting ceased, and footsteps came crashing down the stairway.

Apologies passed through her lips before Gordon was even in sight, but he silenced her with a glare before digging into his breakfast.

Roberta strained for indication of her son upstairs, but heard nothing but the silent tension radiating through the house.

After a few minutes, Gordon growled, "That boy has got to toughen up, you can't keep babying him. We'll start him in football, then he'll know what real pain is. I told you not to take him to the doctor."

"I had to Gordon! His arm was not in a natural position, his teacher would have noticed. If they had taken him, it would have been worse." She was answered with the table crashing into her rib cage as Gordon pushed away from the table and stormed out of the house. As she gingerly made her way to the sink, she heard the sliding glass door open and close softly behind her. She looked through the window just in time to see Marty dash across the backyard.

* * *

" _This is a rather late hour for a young boy like you to come in hurt like this. What happened?" The tone wasn't accusatory, but concerned._

 _Roberta froze, unsure how to best answer the question. But a voice spoke up before she could gather her thoughts._

 _Marty's chin pointed upwards in confidence, but his voice wavered just slightly, "You see, sir, sometimes when I'm sleeping, I sleepwalk. And tonight, my dog, Petey, he left his toys at the top of the stairs, and I tripped, and I fell. All the way to the bottom. Can you help? My arm really hurts."_

 _Roberta sat in shock, watching as the doctor began to look at Marty's arm. Truth was, the only truth to Marty's statement was the fall down the staircase. He didn't sleepwalk, he didn't trip, they didn't even have a dog! She had had no idea what she was going to tell the staff regarding Marty's injuries, and she was just flabbergasted at what the boy had come up with on his own. He'd always exhibited an active imagination._

 _Dr. Lockard held Marty's hand still as his other examined the injury. "Okay Marty, your arm is definitely broken, we'll have to get some X-rays and put it in a cast. Does anywhere else hurt?" The boy shifted uncomfortably and shook his head. The doctor continued on, "Let's get your shirt off and check just in case, I want to make sure you don't have any owies we can't see, okay?" Marty seemed hesitant, and looked to his mother, who nodded. Marty seemed more at ease about agreeing._

 _Roberta stretched the hem of Marty's shirt over his head gently, avoiding jostling his injured arm. She drew in her breath at the myriad of colors gracing her son's torso. She looked away quickly, trying to think of how she'd answer the doctor when he also realized the varying ages of these injuries._

 _"Woah, buddy, what happened here? Was this all from your fall today?" Dr. Lockard's voice was full of concern._

 _Marty looked down and shrugged, then used his unhurt arm to point to each mark. "I dunno. Mama says I bruise easy. I missed the ball Tommy threw to me at baseball, these scrapes I got when I fell outta my tree, I think this one was when we were playing Wrestlemania. I got to be Hulk Hogan! See my 'stache?!" The adults laughed as he pointed out the yellow magic marker lines drawn around his mouth. "I think this one is new though, musta been when I fell," he referred to a fresh bruise forming atop his collarbone._

 _The doctor examined the purple mark, lightly pressing on the spot, causing Marty to wince. He quickly schooled his face to indifference before the doctor continued on, feeling for other injuries in the area. He then noted his findings before excusing himself to tend to other patients while Marty got his X-ray._

* * *

Roberta waited for five minutes to pass after Gordon left for work. Once she was sure he wouldn't return unexpectedly, she made her way thru the sliding door.

"Marty, come out please!" She called out to the backyard. Leaves rustled, drawing her attention upward. "Really?! You have a cast covering most of your arm and you're _still_ climbing trees? What am I going to do with you, mister!?"

"Geronimo!" Marty landed feet first on the ground beside her. "I was careful, promise!" He looked up at her with an earnest grin, but she could still see the ghosting of tear tracks down his cheeks.

"C'mon, let's go eat waffles." Marty's grin grew wider and he ran ahead to the house.

Once the breakfasts were plated, the pair sat at the kitchen table. Roberta cut his waffle into strips for him to eat one-handed more easily. She made a mental note to write his teacher regarding his schoolwork. The cast on his right arm could prove to be a hindrance to his writing ability.

Marty was enjoying dipping his last waffle into syrup puddles and driving it around his plate when Roberta pulled the dish out of his reach. He stuck the strip into his mouth, looking up at his mother's serious face.

"What happened this morning, baby boy?" She cupped her hand under his chin, the pad of her thumb stroking the tear stains.

"I woke up, and my arm was hurting, so I went to look for you. You weren't there, but I thought maybe you'd come back, so I laid down in your spot. I stayed really quiet so I didn't wake Daddy, but I fell asleep before you came back."

"I'm sorry Love, I fell asleep on the couch. I was super tired!"

"It's okay. I was sleeping good, until Daddy rolled over onto my arm! I don't think he meant to, he was still sleepin', but it really hurt, so I screamed. And that woke him up. And then he got angry."

Roberta sighed and stood, taking their plates to the sink. "Did he do anything?"

"No Mama. Just started yellin', asking why I had the cast. Said I needed to be more tough. But I _was_ really brave! I barely cried when I fell! I tried to tell him that, but he didn't listen. Said he should make me go down again, make it really hurt." At these words, Marty sniffled and got up. He wrapped his arms around Roberta's stomach and held his head against her back. "Why… why does...?" That was as far as he got with his question before dissolving into tears.

Roberta turned to Marty with tears in her own eyes. "I don't know baby, it's complicated. But never doubt how much I love you," she kissed his head and squeezed him tightly. "Now, why don't you get on a pair of PJs that aren't covered in syrup and tree bark…"

Marty snorted at this.

"And grab a story and meet me in my room, you little monkey!" She smiled and tickled his injured torso lightly until he started giggling. He gave her a kiss before he ran off.

Once Marty had run up the stairs, Roberta sank to the ground, shaking. Tears dropped from her cheeks as her resolve fell. She had no idea how to fix the situation with her husband. Or how to get away from it. But in the meantime, she had to stay strong for Marty.

* * *

 _Roberta flipped idly through a magazine she wasn't really reading. They'd been in the examination room for over two hours. She was glad when a nurse stopped by to check on the pair - she brought Marty a handful of cotton balls and tongue depressors to occupy himself while they awaited the doctor. Marty currently sat cross-legged on the exam table, building with the makeshift toys, new cast not hindering his play at all._

 _Dr. Lockard re-entered the exam room, prescription pad in hand. He checked over Marty one last time, before taking a seat. He went over care instructions and advised Marty to avoid WrestleMania bouts and other heavily physical activities._

" _Are you alright ma'am? Do I need to check out your wrist?" The doctor had noticed Roberta cradling it in her right hand as he wrote out a prescription for Marty._

 _"Oh no, I'm fine," Roberta insisted. "Just an old tennis injury. This guy here's been clung to my hip, and he just keeps getting bigger! I just put a little too much strain on it picking him up getting him here." The doctor nodded and scribbled more on his pad._

" _If you'll step out with me please, we can go over these prescriptions and get started on the discharge," he waved Roberta toward the door. She looked hesitantly at Marty, unwilling to leave him alone, but he was enthralled by the pile of medical supplies. She dropped a kiss to his curls and followed the doctor out of the room._

" _You've got a tough little boy here, but I think he's in a bit more pain than he's letting on. I'm worried some of the pain in his ribs might keep him from sleeping well. I am giving him a pretty strong painkiller, but in case he still has issues sleeping, I included a mild sedative you can give him which might help him to sleep easier. I put in a painkiller for you as well - you take care of yourself, you hear me?" The doctor gave Roberta a pointed look and she inwardly grimaced - afraid the doctor was seeing through their lies. She made mental note to move on to the next closest ER in the event of another incident._

* * *

Roberta has just exchanged yesterday's slept in clothes for a clean nightgown when she heard a shout from Marty's room.

"Mama, help! I'm stuck!"

She turned around to see Marty entering her room, clad in his Superman pajama pants and half of the matching shirt. His arm was stuck up over his head, the cast on his arm preventing the shirt from being pulled down all the way, obscuring his view.

If it weren't for the colorful bruises on Marty's torso, Roberta would have wished for a camera to capture the absolutely adorable moment in front of her. She guided him toward the bed, where she perched on the edge and attempted to free him from his cotton prison. The long sleeves were just a bit too tight to let the bulky plaster cast through, so she pulled the shirt up and off, revealing a pouting Marty.

"But I wanted to wear my Supermans! They're my favorite 'jamas!"

Roberta thought for a moment, then swung the shirt behind Marty's back. She laid the sleeves over his shoulders, tying the ends into a knot so the shirt hung loosely from his neck. "There ya go! Now you have a cape just like Superman himself!"

Marty twisted his head to try to look at the cape. When he was satisfied, he pulled himself and a bag from his room up onto the bed. Roberta watched as he settled himself amongst the cushions then reached for the bag. First to come out was his beloved Stretch Armstrong doll. While Stretch was getting settled on the bed in a similar fashion to his owner, Roberta shifted the bag so she could sit next to her son. She pulled a stack of library books out and spread them around.

Marty twisted and stretched the doll's limbs in unnatural directions. "I wish my arms were like this. Then my stupid arm wouldn't be in this stupid cast."

"Don't call things stupid, it's not nice," she chastised, but the change of topic reminded her of something that had bothered her earlier. "Marty?" He kept playing with the toy. "Martin!" She pulled Stretch from his grasp to get his attention, but then softened her approach. "Martin, baby, why did you tell the doctor you were sleepwalking? You don't sleepwalk. And yes, you did all those things you told him about, but that's not how you got any of those hurts."

"I unno Mama. Why did you tell Mr. Norman next door you fell down last week?" He rubbed his hand lightly over the fading bruise on her upper arm.

"Touché," was the only reply she could muster, surprised by his observations. She hadn't realized he'd heard her excuses.

"Two-what?"

"Never mind baby," she picked up one of the books and began to read aloud.

* * *

She didn't know when she'd fallen asleep, but as Roberta blinked back into consciousness, she was confused by the cool dampness on her stomach. She looked down and found resting atop her chest, the head of curly blond hair belonging to her son.

"What's this? Are you hurting?" She asked Marty, noticing the time and that he was due for his meds.

"No Mama! You got a bruise, so I brought you an ice pack and some cocoa! Just like you do when I get my hurts."

Roberta looked to see a washcloth held tight in Marty's hand, resting lightly on the newly forming bruise on her shoulder. The wetness indicated it had once been wrapped around a few loose ice cubes.

"Thank you baby, that's very sweet." She sat up, pulling Marty into a hug. "But how are you feeling?"

A shrug. "I'm okay," he started, but Roberta's stare wore him down. "I hurt a little, but not too bad."

Roberta checked Marty over, much like the doctor had, feeling all the areas of his torso, looking for sore spots. He didn't vocally express pain, but she could see the tears welling in his eyes as she felt along his ribs and stomach.

"I'm sorry baby," she apologized, kissing him, before reaching to the pharmacy bag on the nightstand. She withdrew doses for both him and herself from their respective vials, then asked, "So where is this cocoa?" She was curious as to how he managed to make it by himself, especially with one arm, and prayed Marty did not make too much of a mess of the kitchen.

He reached to the other nightstand and presented a plastic Tupperware cup with an old sippy lid. "I didn't know how to do it like you do, so I made it my own way." Roberta held in her grimace as he explained. "I made chocolate milk, with the syrup in the fridge. But I couldn't stir it with my cast. So I put the lid on the cup, really tight, covered the hole, and shook it all up till it was mixed. Then I put it in the microwave. Not too long, just like you say. And now you gotta try it!"

"Well, that was a really smart idea!" Roberta praised as she pried the lid off the cup and internally groaned at the dark color of the beverage. She was fairly certain there was more chocolate than milk in the glass, but she dutifully took a sip of the now lukewarm milk and smiled. "Thank you baby, it's delicious! Would you like to finish it?"

"But I made it for you!" Marty's defense was weak as he eyed the glass longingly, taking it out of her hand.

She exaggerated a yawn and laid back on the pillows. "I'm still a bit full from our waffles. Plus, cocoa equals sleepy time, so now I'm ready for another nap. Go on, drink up and lay down with me. Okay, baby?" Marty wasted no time doing as she suggested, curling up next to her beneath the covers.

Suddenly, Marty popped back up. "We didn't do a joke! Mama, tell me a joke! Please?"

"You and your jokes. Okay, let me see…" Waiting until he laid back down, she asked Marty, "Why do phones ring?"

"'Cause they can't talk!" he answered laughing.

"Hey now, mister!" She started tickling him, laughing as hard as he was. "You're supposed to say 'what', you're supposed to say 'what'!"

Marty squirmed, shrieking with infectious giggles. "Sorry Mama! I knew that one!"

Ceasing her tickling, she kissed his curls, and they both closed their eyes to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3 - 1990

Alright, well this chapter has been a long time coming, sorry for the delay. Good news is, most of the rest of this story is already written. Bad news is, none of it is the next chapter. :/ So if you have any suggestions of situations you'd like to see young Mama and Marty deal with, let me know! I've some ideas, but I'd love to write what you guys want to see. And hopefully I won't take as long to post the next bit. Many thanks to Bluenet13 and Psyched for being my helpers/betas/sounding boards and listening to me complain about this chapter for MONTHS. Love you both! Hope you guys enjoy! Let me know what you think!

Warning: This chapter contains references to and descriptions/depictions of child and spousal abuse.

* * *

1990

Headlight beams through the thin curtains of the motel woke her. The unexpected light illuminated the rumpled empty bed next to her. Panicked, Roberta went to sit up and find her son, only to realize through her sleepy haze he was draped across her chest, clenching her tight. Her arm moved up to stroke Marty's side, shifting it as he winced. The mottled bruising under her hand was just one harsh reminder of their traumatic day, and Roberta thanked the heavens Marty was actually sleeping.

Her own thoughts were torn in every direction. Angry, scared, relieved, proud.

Anger encompassed all other emotions. The anger at herself was the strongest. That she didn't walk away. She hadn't gotten her son out earlier. Hadn't been able to keep him safe. Hadn't been able to walk away from her husband, the one she had once been so in love with. Before. Before the abuse of alcohol and power had threatened her family.

Roberta thought she was scared when Gordon raised his fists to her. She thought she was scared when he threw a lamp in her direction. She thought she was scared when he pointed a shotgun in her face. But that imminent feeling of fear was trumped easily by the fear of the future sparked by one image. It was burned into her brain - her son, her baby boy - at the police station, shuddering while the officers spoke to him. Would they take him away from her? Would he go to jail? Have a record? Be able to live any kind of stable life? The questions churned furiously over and over.

The cheap hotel sheets were bunching under her, so she lifted Marty slightly, his spindly arms indicative of a recent growth spurt. He'd soon be too big for her to do this, and she was saddened by the thought.

Settling Marty back against the pillow, Roberta adjusted the bedcovers, trying not to jostle the sleeping boy any further. She pulled him toward her, trying to still his trembling form. The blur of the afternoon catching up to her, she thought through the events of the day.

* * *

 _She'd been in the kitchen all morning, whipping up her best Thanksgiving recipes. Marty had just come in from running around outside and was laying in front of the television watching the Macy's Parade. She'd hoped to have all the food ready before Gordon came home. The easiest way to keep the man calm was through his stomach._

 _She was using the electric mixer to mash the potatoes when her husband returned home, not that she'd heard him come in. She smelled the alcohol first. Then what she was able to hear made her heart drop into her stomach._

 _"Wake… lazy… shit!" followed by a thump, then a crunch, and then a yelp. Roberta rushed to turn off the mixer, running towards the living room. She arrived in time to see Marty roll away from his father, knocking over the end table, sending the porcelain lamp off the edge. Marty cowered behind the table like a barricade, but Gordon had already stomped off into the other room._

 _Roberta went to check on her son, but he pushed her away, swiping at his eyes as he staggered up the stairs, grasping at his side. At a loss for what to do, Roberta returned to the kitchen, plating up turkey, stuffing, and mashed potatoes for her fractured family._

* * *

Marty screamed, jolting Roberta out of her thoughts. Shuddering breaths followed a whimper as he thrashed about. She cooed at him softly, trying to calm him without waking him. He nearly settled, but she looked down to see his bright blue eyes staring at her sadly.

"Mama, are you okay? Why are you awake?" Marty asked as if he hadn't just awoken from a night terror on his most trying day.

A soft chuckle left Roberta's lips. "Just thinking baby. How's your side doing?" She brushed her hand across his ribcage, and he skidded back. "Oh my love… let me and grab your painkillers." As she rifled through her bag, Marty kept insisting he didn't need it. "No arguments, mister!" she chided him. "Mama says, and what Mama says goes! And if that's not enough, the nurses insisted on it too." Reminding him of the hospital trip on top of the rest of the day's events, Marty deflated and ceased his stubbornness.

Swallowing the pills, Marty looked up at Roberta sadly as she climbed back into the bed. "I'm sorry, Mama."

"You have nothing to be sorry for my dear. Go to sleep now." She watched him slip back into his un-restful slumber.

* * *

 _A potato skin. A sliver of a potato skin. A sliver of a skin left in his mashed potatoes was enough to ignite a rampage. Before she knew what was happening, she was being dragged by her wrist into the living room. Her head slammed against the wall as a hand closed around her neck. She called out to Marty to stay in the kitchen - to shield him from her horror, but he followed after. He was trying to distract his father, keep him from hurting his mother, turn the attention toward himself. She hated that he'd do that. She was a grown woman; she could take it. She couldn't bear that he hurt their child, her baby boy._

 _Her memory was a little fuzzy with what happened next, all a blur of yelling and anger, but she had snapped back to attention when she heard gunshots. Two, she remembered. Gordon's 'warning shot' through the ceiling, and Marty's return fire, landing in Gordon's shoulder, enough to drop him to the ground. The angered screams turned to pain, but no one really knew what to do in that moment of panic. She looked at Marty in shock - she'd known of Gordon's shotgun, but she'd never seen the handgun that shook in Marty's grasp._

 _The sight of the blood and the realization of what he'd really done hit Marty, and he dropped the gun, and dashed upstairs, out of sight._

 _Roberta herself was unsure of what should be done, so she just unlocked and opened the front door, inviting in whoever was behind the sirens she could already hear approaching, grabbed towels and rushed towards her felled husband._

* * *

Pulling the comforter tighter around herself and Marty, her ears picked up at a murmuring, not louder than a whisper.

"Ray, I did it. I did it, Ray! I stopped him. I used what you gave me, I did it. He won't hurt her anymore. Or me. And I _swear,_ I didn't tell them I got it from you."

Shocked, Roberta looked over at Marty, watched him curl into himself, a glint of light reflecting off tear-stained cheeks. He was still asleep.

 _So, that's where it came from_ , Roberta thought. She knew the police officers assumed he found it in the house; that it'd been Gordon's. She knew it wasn't, but did nothing to contradict that assumption.

* * *

 _"...I found it." The small voice peeked out from under the covers._

 _"Marty, I need you to think really hard. I need to know. Where did you find it? Where did you get the gun? Was it your dad's gun?"_

 _Roberta leaned on the doorframe, watching the exchange. The officer stood over the bed, and despite his compassionate tone, his stature was intimidating._

 _"I said, I found it! Now leave me alone!" Despite his attempts to sound fearless, Roberta could hear the tremor in her son's voice._

 _"I can't do that, now I need you to come out and talk to me, son." The man pulled back the covers of the bed._

 _Marty scampered out the opposite side. "I'm not your son! Get away from me!" He rushed out the door as fast as his earlier injuries would let him._

* * *

She must have fallen asleep, as Roberta found herself startled awake some time later. A feeling of dread washed over her and it took a moment to place its cause. Marty was no longer lying beside her in the bed, and a cursory glance at the one adjacent showed him absent there as well. Thoughts of the worst came to mind until she heard a small sniffle from the corner of the hotel room.

She moved quickly to the closet door. "Marty, sweetie, it's just Mama. May I open up?" Hearing no refusal, she slid the mirrored door open. At first glance, all she saw was the ironing board leaning against the wall, but on closer inspection, she noticed the matching iron hovering beside it. After verifying it was not attached to an outlet, Roberta rested her hand atop the iron, lowering it to ground level as she sat upon the floor. Here she came face to face with her son, his lip quivering in fear. The makeshift shield clattered to the floor as he let go, throwing his arms around Roberta.

"Trying to attack me with housewares like in that new Christmas movie you want to see?" She tried leveling the situation the best way she knew how - with humor.

Ignoring her attempt to lighten the mood, Marty used her shoulders to pull himself to standing, wobbling slightly on one foot. He staggered the three steps to collapse on the bed, the bandage coming loose from his swollen ankle. He rolled to his back and tried to untangle the wrap. "Ack!" he grunted in pain as the cloth caught on the splinted fingers of his left hand.

Roberta made her way to Marty's side. She picked up the bandage and untangled him from it. When he was freed, she gave his blond head a kiss. "Marty," she looked him straight in the eyes, "Why were you in the closet?"

His eyes dipped downward. "There was somebody yelling outside, really angry. I… I thought it was… him. I didn't know what to do. I'm sorry I didn't defend you too."

"Oh but you did today, Martin. You saved both of us!" He looked relieved at her lack of anger. "But what happened?"

"What do you mean what happened? Don't you remember?" She shook her head, wanting to hear his version of events.

"We were eating dinner and he got all mad about the potatoes. He grabbed you away, and I didn't know what to do! Then I remembered the gun I got from…" he trailed off, a panicked look to his eyes. "Found! I found it. I only wanted to scare him with it. When I got to the living room, he was holding you to the wall! I… I had to stop him from hurting you. So I hid the gun in the couch cushion and then I tackled him." Marty's fingers ran slowly along the bruises at the base of Roberta's neck, and she gasped softly at the cool metal of the splint. "Are you okay, Mama?"

She reached up and held his hand with her own. "I am now, baby. What about this?" She kissed his palm before releasing his hand.

"Stepped on, when he stomped away to get his shotgun." The nervous look returned. "He was yelling and screaming that he was gonna hurt us, and 'make us pay' and I grabbed the gun from the cushions. He came back out and pointed the shotgun at you. I begged him to stop, and he shot the ceiling! I was surprised so I yelled, and he pointed it at me! It was so close, I couldn't wait anymore, so I took my... the gun and I shot him! I'm sorry I did it, but I'm not. I know he's my dad but he just wouldn't stop and I didn't know what else to do!"

Roberta rubbed soothing circles on Marty's back, his heart racing beneath her fingers. "I know, baby boy, I know," she cooed at him. "I not saying I'm happy you kept and used a gun you _found,"_ she looked pointedly at him, "but I can't say I'm _not_ happy that we're safe now."

Marty shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, then changed the subject. "Mama, do we have anything in here to drink?"

"I brought some cocoa packets. Let me heat up some water in the coffee pot, and we'll have cocoa. And while you drink that up, I'll re-wrap your ankle. How does that sound?"

Marty nodded in agreement, using his uninjured hand to adjust the splint on the fingers of the other.

* * *

 _Roberta hated that her yard was swarming with people. An ambulance in her driveway, 3 police cars idling along the street, neighbors gawking from their own quiet yards. She sat upon the stoop, watching no less than 8 officers searching high and low for her son. Marty had taken off running, scared when confronted by the cop in his bedroom, and well, Marty could hide like he never wanted to be found._ He'd had to be good at it _, she thought. Gordon had terrified him for years._

 _She knew there was an officer beside her, but she wasn't processing anything that was being said. They wouldn't let her look for Marty. "_ Can't have you influence his statement," _they'd told her. Marty had been missing for 20 minutes. Lack of excitement was slowly diminishing the crowd invading the house - ambulance taken off, carting her injured and soon-to-be incarcerated husband away, extraneous police presence off to more pressing holiday disasters._

 _Roberta saw a hint of movement from the corner of her eye and relief washed over her. Marty was approaching the yard slowly, with a slight limp in his step. She watched as her son walked confidently toward the only other females on the property - an officer and a social worker - and held out his hands. Roberta leapt up from her seat on the stoop, walking towards them, straining to hear what Marty said. What she heard made her heart break, and yet she was so proud at exactly the same time. Marty really was a good kid._

 _"Miss? You can take me away now." Marty whispered, confidence wavering slightly._

 _The officer looked down at the boy, confused by his statement. "What do you mean? Take you where?"_

 _"I shot my dad. You're here to take me to jail, right? You can cuff me now." The tears that had been pooled in his eyes all day finally spilled over._

* * *

Tears pricked at Roberta's eyes at the reminder of the breakdown of her boy. The rest of the day flashed even faster through her mind. The officer and social worker sat Marty down, and explained that he was the victim and not a bad guy. That it was self-defense, but there will still legal processes to be followed. Next came all the logistical nightmares - a trip to the hospital to diagnose and catalog injuries both old and new, followed by documents of the legal variety at the police station - which took up the remainder of the Thanksgiving evening. When all the necessities were finished, Marty was released to Roberta's custody, and the pair made their way to the CaliDesert Inn motel, their residence until the police investigation and subsequent cleaning were completed at their home.

Marty's voice broke her from her thoughts. "I'm sorry Mama."

Roberta handed Marty his cup of cocoa, lightly cupping his bruised chin. "Baby, you have nothing to be sorry for. _I'm_ sorry. We should have left a long time ago, I just worried about what would have happened if he found us."

"It's not your fault either you know. I love you." He reached around and squeezed her tight.

"Love you too baby boy," she returned the hug.

"Moooom! How many times do I need to tell you! I'm not a baby anymore."

"Oh no! Teenage petulance coming early!" She teased her son, who laughed sleepily. She pressed a kiss to his blond locks. "Sorry love, you're always going to be my baby."

A deep sigh turned the conversation back to serious. "Mama, can I ask you something?" He looked away, and up towards the ceiling.

"Okay, shoot," Roberta said, then gasped. "Bad choice of words, sorry, baby."

Marty chuckled lightly, then delved into his thoughts. "What's going to happen now? Is he gonna go to jail? Am I going to go to jail? Am I gonna have to talk in court? Is he going to come back? Are you guys still gonna be married? Do we have to move? What about school? What will my friends think if they find out? I won't be able to play my violin in Orchestra, what will I tell my teacher?"

"Shhh, baby. Slow down. Maybe I shouldn't let you watch Law and Order with me anymore," she chuckled. "We don't need to worry about any of these things tonight. For now, let's sleep and we'll deal with the future later. Tomorrow, let's go see that Alone at Home movie you want to see."

Marty appeared unconvinced. "Mama, it's Home Alone! You know that!" He set his empty cocoa mug on the end table, and attempted to settle atop the too-thin pillows. "Can we get popcorn? Oh, and an ICEE! Please?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe I shouldn't give sugar to a boy who won't go to bed," she teased. "I think we need our nightly funny, let me see…." she cleared their cups as she tried to think of a joke appropriate for their somber evening. "Knock, knock," she started, turning toward the bed when she received no response.

As she sat on the bed, she saw Marty had drifted back to sleep. _"The cocoa works every time_ ," she thought to herself. Relieved, Roberta tucked the comforter around him, before laying herself down and letting her fatigue take over.

* * *

Thanks for sticking with me, and I hope you liked it! Please let me know what you thought!


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